Flight Lessons
by NotHeavenHellorPurgatory
Summary: Castiel Novak has given up on life. He's decided to end it all. Dean Winchester is the cop deployed to talk him down. Destiel. Human AU
1. The Initial Fall

**A/N:** And here we are again. I don't know how this keeps happening. The prompt comes from Leviathan Castiel.

This is an AU and also Destiel. It should be a three part story, so don't kill me when you get to the end. Also, warnings for a suicidal!Cas. Beware. Please R&R and enjoy. Thanks.

* * *

Castiel used to think he could fly. As a child, it seemed only logical that if he just jumped high enough, _tried_ hard enough, his body would stay weightless and with a little effort he would soar with the birds.

It seemed ironic now, that he'd returned to such a sentiment. As he stood on the precipice of the building, every gust of wind threatening to send him off and into the blue, he was holding out hope—a tiny hope—that when he jumped, gravity would turn its eyes away, and he'd grace the sky instead of falling through it.

But that wasn't right because Castiel _wanted_ to fall. He wanted to hit the ground. He wanted his bones to shatter and skull to crack. He wanted his blood to stain the concrete below and for it all to finally, blessedly, be over. He didn't care anymore what his _father_ would say. His cold, judgmental eyes would never pass over Castiel again but to identify the corpse in the morgue.

Castiel would never get a chance to apologize to his mother. Somehow he doubted they would see each other in the afterlife. His final destination would surely be much warmer. Castiel couldn't ask for a happy ending.

He just wanted an end.

People were screaming. He could hear it all the way up here, one hundred and twenty stories high. However, Castiel wasn't going to look down. He'd spent too much of his life, gaze glued to the ground. How many sunrises did he miss? How many sunsets? In his last moments, he had eyes only for the sky—overcast, but the sun continued to struggle under the clouds.

Castiel took a deep breath. He'd stalled for too long. Years had been wasted in denial of one obvious fact: Castiel Novak had no reason to live. Castiel Novak deserved to die.

He could count on his hand how many breaths he had left. Five.

Were there sirens? It didn't matter anymore. Four.

Castiel spread his arms wide, familiar tan trench coat billowing in the wind. Three.

The clamor below surged. Two.

Castiel closed his eyes and tensed his knees in preparation. One.

It was time.

Zero.

"HEY!"

Castiel froze.

Castiel opened his eyes.

Castiel didn't jump.

Castiel breathed in again air that didn't belong to him.

He turned around slowly to the source of the voice. It was a man. A policeman. With shiny, golden brown hair and bright emerald eyes. He was panting, holding the railing (which Castiel stood outside of) practically clutching it for dear life. There was pure panic in his eyes, but also, a perfect sort of tenacity.

Castiel looked away. There was no room for distraction here—on the rooftop of the end of his destiny. There was no room for anyone else but him on this stage. And he had missed his exit.

Slow. Always behind.

_"Can't even kill himself correctly."_

"Dude!" The policeman spoke again, shattering Castiel's bitter memoires. "Hold on a second—don't be so hasty! You can't jump."

Castiel laughed. Oh, he begged to differ.

"Ok, ok, you _can_, but you shouldn't."

How wrong he was. How ignorant. What Castiel _shouldn't be doing_ was wasting time—procrastinating. Failing. _Again._

In his mind, Castiel's father's shrewd eyes mocked him.

"No! Buddy, _calm down!_ You didn't even let me finish."

Castiel shouldn't have paused. He should have jumped. This man was irritating.

And yet, he continued to talk and Castiel continued to listen. "See, how this works is, you let me say a few things, ask you a few soul-searching questions, renew your faith in humanity and then you _get off the freakin' ledge_. Or, y'know, you could just hop off now and save me the trouble."

Castiel _was_ saving him trouble. He was saving _the world_ trouble by jumping.

Except that he wasn't jumping yet. He was still on the rooftop, feet firmly planted on the brick siding. "Go. Away." He commanded.

Castiel didn't need this. Not now when he was so close. He just wanted it all to stop. He just wanted to be at peace.

Was that too much of an inconvenience?

"Woah there, how about you think about someone else. Like me?" the cop interjected. "I'm _terrified_ of heights. If you just got down and took the elevator a few floors groundwards, maybe we could talk about this like two civil adults."

Castiel blinked. "If you dislike heights so much, you are free to leave."

The cop chuckled—_chuckled_. "You see, I would, but my boss told me I couldn't 'til I brought 'ya with me. So do a guy a favor and just come down."

"_No._" The malice in Castiel's voice almost surprised him. "This is my business—my _life_. You would do well to stay out of it."

This put a crease between the insistent man's eyes. "Now, I'm sorry, but I just can't do that." He straightened, then kept a hand on the railing as he took a few cautious steps in Castiel's direction. "It's my job, and well, I'm also a stubborn sonofabitch, so don't think you can outlast me." He cast a petrified look downwards, but still took another step. He was now inches away from Castiel's outstretched arms.

Castiel didn't need to outlast him. He only needed to ignore him long enough to gather his resolve and just _jump_. Why was this so difficult? Why couldn't he just extend one leg? It would be a simple step, albeit the last he would ever take, but Castiel had been living a life of lasts for a long time. He was ready.

He wouldn't have stepped onto the roof if he wasn't.

"I can _tell_ you're mulling it over. Think you can just jump." The cop had a little waver in his voice. "But do you know what I think?"

No, Castiel couldn't possibly care less.

"_I _think that if you were going to jump, you would've done it already. You looked pretty determined when I got up here, but now?" He shrugged. "A little noncommittal."

"You don't know anything," Castiel hissed. He had conviction. He had _twenty-six years_ of conviction. _Just one step…_

"Yeah? Yeah, well, you might be right. I don't know you. I don't know your life. I couldn't tell you from a stranger on the street—except that you need me. Right now, whoever you are—whatever you've done—it doesn't matter. I'm not gonna let you die."

Castiel wanted to scream. "What do you care?" he demanded. "What does it matter? If I jump—if I die, what will you mourn for? The man you never knew? A soul you couldn't save? Because there's no point to that. My life has no meaning. My death will not either. Your words mean nothing."

"I don't—"

"Nothing matters," Castiel spat. And now he was worked up. His palms were sweating in the early chill of September. He wanted to die. He shouldn't have to defend himself. He had thought over this choice every night since Daphne died. The night he told her he wasn't as in love as she thought he was. When she stormed out of their apartment and he _didn't _chase after her. When he got the call, hours later, that a semi had totaled her car. Daphne had been killed on impact. Dead.

_Murdered_.

And Castiel couldn't carry her ghost anymore. Not with the rest of them. He couldn't take it. "Spare me your contrived sympathy or misplaced sense of responsibility. _I don't care._" Castiel was beyond that. He was so beyond it all.

_One step was all it took. One single step. _Castiel was ready.

The cop jerked forward a single second before Castiel moved. He reached out, yelling, as Castiel took that one single step.

And Castiel leapt up to fly with the birds.


	2. Intermittent Upswings

**A/N: **Sorry for the slow update. Don't kill me please! I had a lot of trouble with this chapter, trying to make it accurate and all. I hope it's successful. Thanks for all the people who favorited and followed, I am eternally grateful. Warnings, again, for suicidal!Cas. Also, I forgot the disclaimer in the first chapter. Whatever, I think it's painfully obvious I don't own Supernatural. R&R, thanks! And enjoy!

* * *

Castiel had been thwarted. He'd been thwarted by two strong hands on his shoulder and a mighty pull that should not have been possible.

He had jumped. He had jumped, but this man refused to let him fall.

"Get your hands off me!" Castiel cried.

This wasn't what he had imagined—with _one simple step_. This was messy. This was desperate and sad and much more pathetic than he'd desired. He was dangling in free space, legs kicking in the air, held up by that stubborn cop by a single arm.

The man was red-faced and already sweating. He was leaned precariously over the railing, inches away from falling himself.

His jaw was strong. His eyes were stronger. His grip on Castiel was strongest.

But two hands could not fight off gravity forever.

And as Castiel knew his destiny was to fall, the question was, when and would he do it alone?

"I…will _not_…let go," the cop wheezed through clamped teeth.

Castiel yanked his arm down, striving for freedom.

The cop's green eyes widened and he slid further over the railing. His hands didn't slip.

"You're going to fall!" Castiel yelled. "Let me go!"

The man's eyes flashed. "No."

"You idiotic—"

"_No._ If you don't come back up here," the cop hissed in a breath, "we're both going down."

Was this man suicidal too? Who sent a cop with a death wish to talk down a jumper?

"If you're fine with that," he continued, "then go on ahead and keep trying—because I'm _not _letting go. You wanna die so badly, you'll have to kill me."

Castiel flinched.

He was already a murderer he reminded himself. What was one more?

Castiel looked at the cop. Really looked at him. The innumerable freckles over his face. The intensity of his gaze. The slightly fraying edges of his uniform. The odd charm dangling from his neck. He probably had a family. A mother. A father.

Was Castiel's death so much more important than this man's life?

The railing creaked ominously.

A bit of panic flared in the cop's eyes. "I don't want to die," he said, and it knocked out the breath out of Castiel.

It wasn't spoken like a piteous plea, but like a bold declaration. A defiance.

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut. "I…" Words failed him, but he tried again. "I can't. I can't go back up there." Had his voice always been this weak?

The cop looked down on him with an unreadable expression, then shook his head. "You can," he declared.

Castiel couldn't comprehend it. "_Why_?"

The man just smiled. "I believe in you."

"That doesn't make any sense. It's a baseless assumption. You're going to risk your life just because you hope I won't—"

"Dude, buddy, calm down. It's my leap of faith to take. Just don't disappoint me."

But he disappointed everyone! That was the whole—that was his whole _life_. One big disappointment after the other!

The railing squealed and there was a hiss as one of the fastenings popped off and flew past Castiel.

They were running out of time.

"Okay," the cop asserted, "I'm going to lift you up. You need to get your feet under you and onto the ledge."

Castiel shook his head weakly. "Why can't you just let me fall?"

The cop sighed. "Get this through your thick skull. _I'm not going to._ Once Dean Winchester sets his mind on something, he makes for damn certain he does it."

_Dean Winchester_.

This threw Castiel off for a second as it _really _sunk in that this cop had a name—a history, friends, family, a career, dreams and wishes. Castiel couldn't take that all away.

"Get ready. In one. Two. _Three."_

Dean Winchester hauled him up, groaning, and when Castiel's legs brushed over the ledge, he put his feet back on it _and stood_.

Dean settled back on the other side of the railing, but left a hand on Castiel's shoulder.

On the ground, a crowd cheered, and Castiel finally looked down.

There were hordes of people down there. Camera crews. Police cruisers. Children. Teenagers. Parents. All staring up at him. And Dean Winchester. They were clapping and whooping and waving their arms. Because of him.

The hand on his shoulder squeezed briefly. "See. You did it. I was right."

Castiel exhaled shakily. Everything was shaking. His legs, his knees and his hands trembled. He wasn't sure how he was managing to stand. "I've made a mistake," he breathed.

"What? How?"

"I can't…I can't deal with that." Castiel could imagine all the new glares and inquisitive glances for the _odd_ Castiel Novak. The whispers: _"He tried to kill himself. Twice." "Couldn't go through with it." "Probably just wanted the attention."_

If he couldn't live through it before, why was it any different now?

Dean Winchester sighed. "Come on now. I just saved our lives, you could at least thank me."

"I did not ask you to interfere." He'd just wanted a quiet suicide. Was that too much to ask for?

"You're not still thinking of jumping are you?" Dean asked, wary again.

Castiel looked away. "Why shouldn't I?"

And it surprised him—that this was a real question. He _wanted_ to hear the answer. Castiel wanted to know why the cop with emerald eyes and a declaration of life thought he needed to live.

Dean Winchester's face screwed up. "Uh, well," he laughed weakly to himself. "I went through a rough patch myself, after my parents died and my brother took a stroll down addiction lane. It was bad, but—" and he brightened here, lips quirking upwards, "the people I know—that love me—just wouldn't let me give up. They couldn't think of life without me, and after all the death I'd seen, I just couldn't…add to it."

Castiel gaped. All that…_tragedy_, and still this man stood before him, open-faced and laughing. Grinning like an imbecile._ Proof_, he thought quietly, _that this end was not the only way._ "But don't you…think about it?"

"Suicide?" His eyes glazed over, like he was eyeing something far, far away. "When it's been a long day, or I don't…get there in time, figure it out fast enough and the criminal gets away or someone gets hurt, _sometimes_ I do. But only for a second. It would be stupid to throw all this away—or hurt everyone who worked to get me here by just giving up."

Castiel struggled to understand. "So you live...for them? Or for yourself?"

"Why can't you live for both?"

Castiel had never lived for either. Well, for a brief period, it had been for his family—before they fractured. Now, Gabriel wouldn't even speak to him. Michael was ambivalent to his existence. Castiel had heard nothing of Anna nor Lucifer after _father_ disowned them. He would have lived for his mother, but her memory just wasn't strong enough to keep him pinned to the earth.

For a time, he'd thought he could live for Daphne. She'd picked up the pieces after his first suicide attempt (pills—not enough) and created the home he'd never had. But that hadn't lasted. Just as before, Castiel demolished it all.

He'd had such good intentions. Such love for Daphne, his best and only friend, just not as she'd loved him. Castiel only wanted to tell the truth. He hadn't wanted her to die. _He hadn't._

And now her ghost haunted him. Along with his mother's absence. Along with his father's disapproving glare. Along with the look of betrayal on Gabriel's face when Castiel refused to run way with him. Along with the cool indifference on Michael's face—on _every_ face, because no one cared about Castiel Novak, and those who tried were punished.

Castiel had no one to live for and only antipathy for himself. What else was left for him but a quick second of weightlessness and a rapid collision with the ground?

"Hey! Dude, eyes up here!"

Castiel let his gaze drift back from the edge to Dean.

"Okay, Okay, obviously you're still conflicted. Cool. I get it. I didn't exactly decide to be better and magically—_poof!_—happiness. Other way around if anything. But, just _wait_, okay? Can you do that for me?"

Slowly, Castel shook his head, _no_.

"Come on, cut me some slack. Don't know if I'm up to hauling your ass up on the ledge again."

Then, in theory, there was nothing stopping Castiel from finally carrying out his plans and ending it all. However, he didn't leap off. He was, Castiel supposed, astonished, waiting.

The air on the roof seemed to still, appearing to understand the importance of their impasse.

Dean broke it first. "What's your name?"

Castiel stilled. "Why?"

"Well, you said I don't know anything about you—seemed like a good place to start."

Logical. "Castiel," he answered quietly.

Dean nodded. "Okay, Cas,—"

"I said, Cas_tiel_—"

"I like nicknames." A loaded silence, then, "Why do you want to die, Cas?"

Castiel averted his gaze to the clouds. His answer should have been immediate. Because he couldn't handle living. Because he didn't deserve to. He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn't come out. He couldn't explain—couldn't properly _quantify_ the need to just cease existing.

"You said your life had no meaning. Why? I'm sure you got a family, friends, someone who cares about you, a job at least or—"

"There. Is. Nothing," Castiel deadpanned. "I have nothing to go back to. I've destroyed it all."

Dean paused. "Obviously you regret it."

"Of course I do!" Castiel snapped. "I never wanted any of this to happen. I hadn't _intended_ for her to die. I never wanted to cause any suffering, but it's _done_ now. And I could never atone—"

"Woah, hold your horses there, buddy. Who died? What happened?"

Castiel didn't want to talk about this. Especially not with a complete stranger. He'd never spoken a word of any of it aloud to _anyone_. Not even Daphne. And he had a fear, above all the rest, that if he began, the words would vomit out of his mouth until not a single thing remained inside.

Castiel was scared.

"You don't have to tell me. Fine." Dean shrugged. "But trust me, I get it. The guilt? The responsibility? The self-loathing? I understand."

Castiel wanted to believe him. He was baffled by the intensity of his hope. As if by crushing it down for so long, it had finally surged free with renewed strength, blowing through every carefully erected barrier with ease.

"There's no easy way to get out of it either. I still…I still blame myself for letting Sammy get into drugs, but that's—it's…" He let out a heavy breath, and Castiel realized he was holding onto his own, hanging onto every word out of Dean Winchester's mouth as if they were God's. The cop spoke again. "I'm not good with words." –Castiel couldn't care less— "But I guess you have to recognize that shitty stuff happens in the world, and to the people that we love. There's shitty people out there too, don't get me wrong—but you're not one of them. You would've let me die if you were. So don't…give up because of them. Don't give up your chance of happiness for the shitty people, or because of whatever crap hand God dealt you. You're stronger than that."

Castiel sagged back against the railing. "I am not strong," he whispered.

"I don't think that's true," Dean mused. "You had the strength to climb back up here. You didn't jump again. That's…amazing. It's not going to be easy from here on out, but you took that first step. Don't trip yourself up now."

Dean took his hand off Castiel's shoulder. The release felt a little bit like having the training wheels yanked off your bike unexpectedly in the middle of your first attempt at riding.

But Castiel did not fall.

Dean grinned, robbing the sun a little bit of its light. "And you don't have _nothing_. At least, well, you have me. Not exactly a prize, I know, but there you go." If possible, his smile stretched wider. "I like you, Cas. Wanna be friends?"

_Friends?_ Castiel didn't have friends. He didn't have anyone. Nothing.

No one liked odd, little Castiel Novak. He'd accepted that fact. He'd made peace with it.

And yet here he was, basking in the glow of Dean Winchester where he felt like everything he knew, every hard-laid fact of his world, was all crumbling to pieces out from under him.

But there was Dean Winchester, waiting to catch him. With his smiles and shrugs and idiotic nickname. With truth? With _hope._

Dean Winchester outstretched a hand from the other side of the railing."I just need you to get off the ledge, okay, Cas? Then I _promise_ we'll work it out. Winchester honor, capiche"

The clouds had vanished. The birds were out in stark contrast to the clear, blue sky, sweeping and diving in their glorious routines, dancing between rays of the sun.

But Castiel Novak would not be joining them today.

"Okay," he whispered. Then firmer and stronger. "_Okay_."

And so, Castiel Novak took Dean Winchester's hand and stepped off the ledge.


	3. The Ascent

**A/N:** This is the last chapter in this little story, and it seems more of an epilogue than anything. Keep in mind that it takes place a few years into the future. I warn you now, it is _pure_ fluff. Shameless really. Figured I owed a little happy after all the angst. Thank you again for all the encouraging reviews, favorites and follows-I sincerely appreciate it. Enjoy.

* * *

Castiel had his back to the ground and his eyes to the sky. His fingers tangled in green blades of grass. There was a sickly sweet smell of flowers wafting through the air. His hair wisped against the tombstone in the wind.

His mind was quiet, here at her grave.

Daphne's.

There was no lung-crushing guilt or soul-breaking shame. Just a thick mist of loss and a swift breeze of fond memory.

Something hard kicked at Castiel's leg. He sighed but didn't bring himself to break the silent spell.

A certain obnoxious policemen promised to take care of that himself.

"Cas," Dean drawled, "how'd I know you'd be here."

Perhaps because he'd visited Daphne's grave at least three times a week since being released from the psychiatric hospital. It was a ritual of sorts, and it persisted through the years, even now.

Especially now, maybe.

"Sammy's waiting in the car. Wanted to give us a moment—crazy bastard."

Castiel could believe that. Dean's brother had long since proved his patience in matters of Castiel and Dean. Dean himself was another matter, as Castiel had learned over their visits in the hospital and the following meetings while Castiel settled back into normal life.

Of course, in the years of them living together, Castiel had learned much about Dean Winchester. He learned the amulet Dean wore originated from Sam, as a Christmas present. He leaned Dean was obsessed with one, his '67 Chevy Impala, two, pie and three, Dr. Sexy M.D (though apparently Castiel was expected to keep that last one a secret). He learned Dean could get vicious over a few glasses of whisky, but Castiel refused to be bullied. He learned Dean liked to pull close to him in bed, in the dark, and talk about the sort of senseless nonsense that came to mind in the hours after midnight.

Not everything he'd learned about Dean Winchester had been beautiful. There were dark, _dark _things hiding beneath that perfect smile. However, Castiel Novak was fully aware of his own deficiencies and as Dean had accepted them, Castiel would do the same.

There was a soft grunt as Dean bent down and sat himself at Castiel's side—as he had done a thousand times before. Occasionally he would talk, blathering on about Captain Singer at the precinct, Sam's fiancée, Jessica or the idiot new recruits that didn't know how to operate the coffee machine.

Or, like today, Dean would sit still, not speaking, humming under his breath some Zeppelin song or maybe Metallica.

Today it was Zeppelin. _Out on the Tiles_. Fitting.

Dean would sit until Castiel got up, or they started to talk. They'd had some of their best conversations at the foot of Daphne's grave. Just another thing Castiel needed to thank her for.

"Dean," Castiel said—and that was odd because he rarely broke the silence between them. Silence was where Castiel thrived. But today was special.

The humming cut off. "Yeah?"

"Today is the anniversary."

The anniversary of the last time Castiel attempted to take his life. Ever.

Dean fidgeted, twisting the solid silver band on his ring finger (the one that Castiel he given him, and its twin rested comfortably on Castiel's own finger). "I know."

Castiel's hands tensed and he ripped out the grass unlucky enough to be entangled between his fingers. "It's been such a long time."

"Only six years. That's barely anything."

Castiel fixed him with a glare.

Six years was long enough for him to grieve. For him to heal. For him to learn to smile again. For him to find and join a new pseudo family in the Winchesters.

For him to fall in love.

"Okay okay, _fine_. A lot's happened," Dean conceded. "You got a few more wrinkles on your face, that's for sure."

Castiel threw the uprooted grass in his hands at Dean. "You do too," he muttered petulantly. Of course, Castiel had a fair bit more. However, he'd done a 180 from the shadowed, pale imitation of death he'd been when they first met.

_So much had changed since then._

"I don't think about it that much anymore," Castiel murmured. "I never dream about it." He used to. Every night he would see Dean, in his uniform, leaning over that railing for him. Almost falling. _For him._

Castiel smiled. "There are more important things now."

Dean laughed. "Like me?" He stretched then got to his feet.

Castiel rolled his eyes. Leave it to Dean to ruin the moment. "Obviously. Of course, you."

There was a time, a few years back, that Dean's face would've jumped in surprise—or fell in disbelief. But days of waking up next to each other, morning after morning, and going to sleep side-by-side night after night, had rectified that.

Dean's eyes softened slowly, and he gave that smile (bright enough to make the sun go dim with envy). The smile that had pulled Castiel off that ledge six years ago.

How much Castiel owed Dean Winchester.

How much he loved him.

How glad he was he hadn't ended his life and eradicated the possibility of this happiness.

"I love you too, Cas," Dean announced.

It had not been the first time.

It would not be the last.

Castiel pulled himself off the ground. "I know."

It was Dean's turn to roll his eyes. "You could sound more excited. Took me long enough to admit it."

Versus Castiel who had known the second their hands touched and Dean pulled him over the railing.

"Don't remind me." Castiel had suffered through Dean's commitment issues stoically, but it was better to focus on the results of that struggle than the trial itself. The ends had come to justify the means after all.

"But it's true, y'know," Dean said, "I'm glad we met."

"On the top of a building I intended to throw myself off of?"

Dean gave him a '_stop being difficult_' glare.

Castiel chose to ignore him and stepped forward to lace their fingers together instead. "I want to say something."

"Go ahead." Dean pressed closer so they were standing chest to chest.

Castiel swallowed. "I don't think I've said it before." (He hadn't. Every time he tried the words would expand in his throat until he couldn't possibly push them out.)

"What?" Dean asked softly, lips brushing against Castiel's forehead.

Castiel steeled himself and took a deep breath. This shouldn't be so hard. He wanted to say it. It was the truest thing that would ever come out of his mouth—the purest.

"Cas?" Dean prodded.

It was now or never.

Castiel lifted his head to stare Dean straight in the face, their bodies only centimeters apart. Green eyes to blue eyes. Tanned skin to pale. Soul mate to soul mate.

"Dean Winchester," Castiel proclaimed, "thank you for saving my life."

Dean's eyes widened, and then they crinkled as a smile to shame the rest stretched his mouth wide. "The pleasures all mine," he mumbled, and then he leaned forward to press their lips together.

As they kissed, Castiel decided that perhaps, even with his feet firmly planted on the ground; this was what flying felt like.

**-END-**


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